Laughter, Bombs, Love
by Blue-Eyes-Baka
Summary: UsUk, Arthur's POV, three-shot. He'd left me, He'd broken me, He'd left me to bleed. Why is it that I still love him?...starts in 1917 but skips ahead to 1940
1. Laugh Maker

Part one of three. All three are UsUk from Arthur's POV. The first part is set in 1917, then it skips ahead to 1940 (:

* * *

I have no idea how long I've been here. A few minutes, a few hours, a day, maybe? I can't remember anymore. All I know is where I am, and why. I was locked in my room—or rather, the room I was using. It's 1917, World War I, in the main Headquarters of the Allied Forces. I'm sitting on the floor with my arms folded on the edge of the bed, my face buried in my arms. And I was crying. I had been crying nonstop since I locked myself in here. Since I ran away from _him_.

Funny how this time it was me who ran away.

I'd been in the conference room, sorting some papers out, by myself. Until he walked in. That loud, obnoxious and nauseatingly optimistic American that I hated, but at the same time, was completely and utterly in love with.

It had been over 100 years since he declared Independence, over 100 years since he tore out my heart and shattered it against the wall, leaving the empty hole in my chest to bleed. But no matter how much I bleed, or for how long, I seem incapable of dying. So instead I'm left with this aching pain in my chest, and all I can do is watch as I bleed.

The pain gets worse when I see him. I can't look at him. I haven't looked at him directly since 1783, in Paris, when my King recognised America's Independence and my beloved colony was torn away from me forever. But over the years, the pain and bleeding seemed to slow down and very nearly stop…

But then he entered this war. And the pain came back.

Back to the point; I tried to ignore America's existence and just gather my papers and leave before he spoke to me, but unfortunately for me, he had conversation on his agenda. "Hey, England!" he greeted me brightly, probably grinning that stupid, handsome smile of his. I kept my back turned to him as I responded.

"Good Day, America,"

"What're you up to?" he pressed, walking closer to me. I knew that there was no way out of this without turning to face him, so I did just that. As per usual, I focused on a spot to the right of his head, keeping his face in my peripheral vision, but not looking at him directly.

"I'm busy, right now," I answered, going to walk past him. But America grabbed my sleeve, effectively stopping me.

"Hey, is everything all right?" he asked me. The pain in my chest throbbed harder as I heard his words, practically coated with concern. Stop worrying about me, I know it's just an act, you filthy, stupid liar.

"Yes, fine," I said, trying to tug my arm away. "Why do you ask?"

"You just seem…kinda out of it, ever since I joined, y'know?"

"This is me," I responded, turning to look to the right of his head once more. "And-,"

"And why won't you look at me?"

I stopped talking. I hadn't realised that he'd noticed.

"Why is it that you never look at me?" America repeated, his grip tightening on my arm and his voice getting angrier.

"America-,"

"Look at me, dammit!" he shouted, pushing my arm away from him, turning me fully toward him.

And for the first time in over 100 years, I looked at him. My eyes met his.

And the hole in my chest started to bleed again.

I panicked; I was on the verge of tears—I could feel the lump in my throat and the burning n my eyes—and America was glaring, he was _glaring_ at me, much like he had before. He'd shouted at me, he'd yelled at me. I turned and ran out of the room, dropping my papers, leaving them scattered on the conference room floor.

And that's how I ended up in my room, crying my eyes out like some adolescent girl. I was in love with America; I was so in love with him. I couldn't bare this anymore, my chest hurt so much. I just wanted someone to heal me, someone to stay with me and protect me.

My head was pounding and the room was spinning. My eyes hurt and stung and my cheeks were sore from my constant wiping the tears away. I was beginning to calm down, the tears were falling less and less, but I could feel my headache getting worse. I needed to sleep, but if I did, I know I'd only have nightmares. Usually they're about the war, about my people dying on foreign soil, but I felt like tonight might be about something entirely different.

That was when I heard the knock on my door. I turned my head and stared at the wooden barrier, despite the room spinning and my head protesting loudly. There were more knocks, and this time I answered.

"Who is it?" I asked, my voice weak, pathetic and broken.

"It's America," came the reply, slightly muffled by the door. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, I'm bloody brilliant," I replied sarcastically, trying to mask my tears with anger. "What the hell do you want?" I replied, turning to face the door and hugging my knees to my chest.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right…," America responded.

"I'm fine," I answered.

"You don't sound fine,"

Dammit, why did he have to be so stubborn? I just want him to leave me alone. He reopened this wound in my chest and now it hurt to breath. I just want to be left alone. "Just leave me alone,"

America didn't reply at first, but I heard a small rustle and assumed he'd sat down with his back against the door. "C'mon, I just want to know what's bugging you,"

Did he seriously not know? Was he seriously that stupid?

"…You want to make me feel better?" I asked, standing up.

"Yeah!" America responded happily. "Because that's what I do! I make people feel better,"

Here it comes.

"Because I'm the Hero!"

Typical. So he was only pretending to care about me to better his own reputation. Of course, why did I even think for a moment that he might actually like me? He left me, he tore me apart and he left me shattered, beaten and broken on the muddy battle field. He didn't give a damn about me.

"Because I'm the Laugh Maker!" he continued. Well, that was a new one.

Laugh Maker, he says.

Laugh Maker.

"Then how come all you ever do is make me cry?" I shouted suddenly, surprising even myself. I strode across my room and over to the door, if only to make my voice clearer to the American.

"I tried so hard!" I continued, shouting. "I tried so hard! Everything I did was for you! And then you just threw me aside like I was nothing! The reason I can't look at you is because it hurts! It hurts, dammit!" I punched the door, ignoring the pain that shot up my arm. I was so angry, I was so sad, I was so lost. I didn't want to yell, I didn't want to shout, but at the same time I couldn't stop these words from tumbling from my mouth—I had no control over myself. The words fell like the tears that had started falling down my face once more.

"Why do you hurt me like this? Why can't I let you go? Dammit just leave me alone! I don't want you in this fucking war, just leave me alone!" I punched the door again. America didn't reply, I wasn't even sure if he was still there. Maybe he left again, because I'm so damn pathetic.

I cried harder as the strength left my legs and I slumped to the ground, my hands on the door, hitting the wood weakly. "Just leave me alone…I can't take this anymore…If you're going to leave me then just stay out of my life forever!"

There was silence following my last outburst. After about a minute, I heard a reply in a small, sad voice that sounded unfitting for the American. "…I'm sorry,"

My head snapped up and I looked at the door. "…w-what?"

"I'm so sorry, Arthur…,"

It was strange, hearing him say my name. And it hurt. Like a thousand knives slicing into my body at once, and yet, I longed for him to say it again. Say my name, just like you used to…

"Don't spit your empty words at me," I snapped, unable to control myself anymore. The anger was coming back, rising hot and painful in my chest and in my head.

"tch…all I wanted was to be your equal…but I ended up lower than dirt," America snapped back at me, finally getting angry. Yes, get angry at me, hate me. Hate me and leave me, leave me alone…

"Save your sob story for someone who cares," I replied, mindlessly. It scared me how much I wasn't in control of my own mouth. Who was this, snapping and shouting at him? Who was this? "Naïve idiot of a child,"

"I'm not a child anymore!"

"You certainly act like one!"

"And you act like a miserable old man!"

"Then why bother with me?" I screamed, punching the door. "Why bother with me if I'm so fucking miserable all the time?"

"…I just want to help you…,"

"Then stay away from me!" no, don't. Stay with me, hold me, love me. Protect me. America…

"…Will you smile?"

"…huh?"

"If I leave…and stay out of your life forever…will you smile?"

The anger was immediately washed away with pain, guilt and sadness. No, I want you to stay. I want you to kiss me and love me and make me yours. If you left I'd be miserable.

"I'll only go if it'll make you smile,"

I love you. I love you so much. I love you, Alfred! I love you! Don't leave me! Not again! Please!

All the things I wanted to say but couldn't.

But I had to try.

"Alfr-…A-America..," my voice cracked from the screaming and crying. "…I-I don't want you to leave…I…the t-truth is, I…," I love you. I love you. "I…,"

That's when I heard another voice. "Ah, America, there you are,"

"Hn? France?"

I froze. No, not now! Go away, you bloody frog!

I love you, Alfred! I love you so much! I've loved you for so long! Don't leave me again!

I couldn't speak. I didn't say anything as I heard Alfred stand up and leave with France for a meeting or whatever it was.

Once more I was too weak and pathetic to say it. I was too broken to tell him how I feel. How much I love him.

All I could do is continue to watch the bleeding.


	2. Be My Hero

1940, London.

The London Blitz.

Reducing me to a writhing, screaming child every night. Suffering the impact of the bombs on my city, hearing the screams of my people, seeing the damage and the fire and beaten, broken faces. My people would fight them any way that they could; my citizens rebuilt every morning. My pilots would fight the Germans every night. The dark night air was broken by the sounds of explosions and gun fire.

I was completely alone. France had fallen to the Nazi war machine, and the Soviet Union had a pact with that insane bastard. And the United States was neutral.

Then again, I couldn't expect anything else from the American; last time we met, I'd shouted and screamed at him, telling him to stay out of my life forever. And I guess he'd decided to do just that. He'd sit on the side lines whilst I was bombed and battered every night, he'd sit back and watch whilst my people died. But it's none of his concern, he'd tell himself. He has a duty to his own people, never mind about anyone else's.

It was getting increasingly difficult to wake up every morning.

My eyes fluttered open and I saw light pouring through my windows, the air silent. Finally, it was morning, and I could be safe for a while, before the dark curtain of night fell over me once more.

I had my back to the window, so I went to turn over. A sharp pain ran up my left side, causing me to gasp and freeze immediately. I glance down and saw my side caked with dry blood, but more of the crimson liquid was seeping out due to my careless movement. I sat up slowly, my head and limbs heavy, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. My head spun as I went to stand up.

I ended up falling back on my bed, my eyes squeezed shut as I tried to will the dizziness away. All I ended up doing was doubling over and throwing up.

A few minutes later, I managed to stand up and walk to the bathroom, glancing at myself in the mirror. I was a mess.

I was pale, paler than usual, with dark bags beneath my eyes. My eyes seemed brighter than normal, however, in contrast to the rest of me. My mouth tasted like vomit and my hair was a mess, and my left side was covered in cry blood, with more blood running down my leg. I sighed, and immediately regretted it as I threw up again.

Eventually I managed to clean myself up, pulling on my green uniform and walking to the base to assess the damage done to us the previous night. There was no cleaning up my appearance, however; my hair was wet as I'd run it underneath some cold water and hadn't bothered drying it. I looked exhausted and I was definitely losing weight. I walked into the main office and one of the female workers walked over to me immediately.

"Would you like some tea, Mr. Kirkland?" she asked me, as per usual. I nodded and she walked off to fix my drink. It had become a regular morning routine; I'd come in looking like Hell ran me over a few times and then spat me back out, and Miss Thompson would walk over and ask if I wished for some tea. I'd answer yes, she'd walk off, and my Prime Minister would walk over, smoking one of those damned cigars and filling my head with the smoke. This time when he walked over, I could feel my stomach churning again, and I willed myself not to throw up. My throat was still burning from the first two times.

I turned to greet Mr. Churchill, but the words died in my mouth. Because standing behind him, was a man I never thought I'd see again.

Alfred F. Jones.

Alfred's eyes landed on me and for a moment, I thought I saw concern in his eyes. His smile seemed to falter slightly, but I pinned it all down to my imagination. I was surprised he wasn't laughing at my weak and pathetic appearance.

"Good morning, Kirkland," Churchill addressed me, cigar smoke heading my way. I nodded in response, keeping my jaw locked. "How are you feeling?" he asked with absolutely no concern in his voice. He didn't even wait for my response.

"Wonderful news, Kirkland; America has sent over volunteers for the RAF to help fight the Nazis!" Churchill announced. Alfred grinned at me.

"Couldn't let you have all the fun, y'know?" he said, rather unconvincingly. I still wasn't speaking.

Churchill continued talking about something I probably should've been paying attention to. New battle plans, how many Americans we had, a new secret weapon we're testing, how much damage was done last night…I wasn't really listening at all.

I was looking at Alfred. Luckily, he was actually paying attention to my Prime Minister, thus not noticing my staring. He seemed older, more mature than even in World War I. And, I thought, holding down a blush, he was extremely handsome. I was still in love with him, despite how I'd screamed at him last time. But he came back to me, which much mean he wasn't mad at me, right?

"…so we're testing the Ironsides, and we…"

Churchill's words barely reached me. My head was beginning to spin again; where was my damn tea? Usually it makes me feel better. But there was a low, throbbing feeling in my chest as I looked at Alfred. I was wondering what it was…

"…a warehouse was hit in the blast last night, but…"

Nervousness. Anxiousness. Love. That's what I was feeling. It was an inappropriate time to be feeling such emotions, but I couldn't help myself. Dammit, I was so in love with Alfred, when did this happen?

The smoke was filling my head and the nervousness had turned into a fiery heat in my stomach. The room was spinning and all I could hear was the hustle and bustle of the people around me. Dammit; darkness was slowly filling my vision, and I could tell what was happening. I was about…to…

My eyes closed and I felt myself falling. There was a shout of surprise and I prepared myself for impact on the floor, hoping that maybe I'd be completely gone by the time I reached the ground. I think I did, because all I can remember is suddenly feeling someone's arms catching me and holding me close.

But that couldn't be right…

When I next opened my eyes, I was back in my room. The window was open, filling my room with fresh, but very cold, air. I sat up slowly and noticed as something fell to my lap. I assumed it was my blanket, but then I remembered that I'd put that to soak in the bath tub, considering how it was covered with blood. I glanced down and saw a brown bomber jack with the number '50' sewn on the back. I picked it up, and recognised it was the one Alfred had worn earlier.

I could feel its warmth on my fingers as I held it up in front of me. Warmth I'd felt earlier when I'd passed out—does this mean Alfred had caught me…? But that doesn't make sense…

I shivered and got up to close the window. I tried to pull it closed, but all strength had left my arms. I felt like a helpless child. I glanced at the jacket once more, before walking over and picking it up. It really was warm…

I glanced around to find myself alone, so I slipped the jacket on, walking over to my mirror. I was practically drowning in the thing, but I held it closer to myself and nuzzled the soft material on the collar. It was warm, just like Alfred…I wonder if it felt like this to be held by him.

I looked up at the mirror and my heart nearly leapt out of my chest as I noticed Alfred standing in the doorway. I turned around to face him, his expression reading confusion and something else I didn't understand.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, walking over to me. I stuttered, falling over my words before realizing that it just wasn't going to work. Instead, I pulled the jacket off and handed it to him.

"…thanks," I mumbled, staring at the ground.

"…You can keep it for a little longer, if you want," Alfred said, not taking the jacket from me. I looked up at him, seeing an unusual and unexpected serious expression on the young boy's face.

It felt wrong to call him a boy. He didn't look like it anymore. I was the child now. Take care of me, Alfred, please…

I snapped out of my pathetic thoughts and shoved the jacket against his chest. "No, I'm fine," I said, pulling my hands away as if I'd been burnt. Alfred sighed and pulled his jacket back on.

There an uncomfortable silence between the two of us, before Alfred spoke up again. "Hey, Ar..England?" he asked. I looked up, wishing he'd said my name. "…I'm sorry,"

"About what?" I asked, confused.

"About before…in the Great War…I'm really sorry about shouting at you,"

I scoffed and glanced off to the side. "Idiot," I responded. Alfred looked confused. "Don't apologise for things that aren't your fault,"

"But it-,"

"Was my fault," I interrupted, looking at him. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. You didn't deserve it. I still don't know why I did it, I didn't have control over myself," I explained to him. Alfred looked at a loss for words for a moment, before grinning widely.

"I'll forgive you this time, old man," he laughed.

"I'm not old!" I cried back at him as he continued to laugh. "Hey, Alfred?"

His laughing stopped immediately, looking nearly amazed. "…what?" I asked, wondering what was wrong.

"You…you called me 'Alfred',"

I blushed brightly but scowled as best I could at him. "Idiot, I'm trying to be serious here!" Alfred merely smiled in response. "Look, I'm … I'm really grateful that you're here," I admitted, looking off to the side again. "Thank you,"

There was a pause, when Alfred spoke up again. "Arthur? Look … the truth is, I'm here because I-,"

There was a knock at my door, interrupting Alfred. It turned out to be Miss Thompson with some tea (she'd had to make me a new cup, since I'd passed out before my one this morning). Alfred let her in and once she left, I was expecting him to continue what he was saying before. Instead, he smiled at me, almost sadly.

"You get some rest," he said, before turning and walking out of the room.

I sighed and sat on the bed, taking a sip of my tea. I was glad Alfred was here. I smiled to myself, thinking;

Alfred was here to fight the Germans.

He was here to protect me.

He was here to be my Hero.


	3. Happy Ending

1940.

The London Blitz.

Europe was falling to the Nazi War machine as it rolled mercilessly over the map, and countries were falling one by one like dominoes.

But I stood up and said no. That insane bastard was no going to get my proud Empire. Great Britain would stand and fight. And that's how I ended up being bombarded by bombs every night, helpless as I can do nothing to fight them. I'm caught up in pain and agony, hardly sleeping and screaming until my throat bleeds. My pilots fight against the Germans, brave and unyielding. And my pilots are helped by American volunteers, who came over here on their own accord, despite their nation not being in the war.

And their nation was here too. Alfred F. Jones was here to help.

After leaving me, being in two wars with me and dealing with my yelling and screaming at him, he still came back to help me. He came back to protect me. It just made me fall more in love with him. Of course, he wasn't aware of my feelings, nor was he aware of what the bombings did to me. He'd just go out into his plane and fight, unaware of my screaming and bleeding. I wish he could've stayed oblivious and naïve.

I'd been walking to my room, just after nightfall. I was expecting the sirens to being screaming through the night air any moment now, and I desperately needed to be in my room before it happened. I didn't want anyone seeing me at my weakest.

"Hey, England!"

I cursed internally and turned around, seeing Alfred walking toward me. He was grinning brightly, clearly with the intention of talking to me. Usually I take advantage of any opportunity to talk to him, even if it means arguing with him. But right now, I needed to get away from him; he was the last person I wanted to be vulnerable in front of. He was stronger than me already; I didn't need him seeing me so weak.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready to fight?" I asked as he drew closer to me. Alfred simply smiled at me and waved his hand dismissively.

"I still have a few minutes," he replied. "I wanted to ask you something,"

"Make it quick,"

"Are you okay?"

I blinked at the question, just staring blankly at him. "What do you mean?" I inquired.

"Well, you've seemed really tired recently…not to mention your passing out a few days ago. Is everything okay?"

I opened my mouth to reply but stopped, as at that moment, the shrill sirens filled the air. No, I couldn't be here any longer; I needed to get to my room, and fast. "I'm fine, now go on, fight the Germans and be a Hero. Go on, I'm fi-," fine, I tried to say. But a pain pierced my brain, sending the whole room spinning. I stumbled, nearly falling over, but I felt arms around me, catching me once more.

"England?" Alfred asked, trying to prop me back up on my feet. I steadied my by leaning forward slightly and gripping to Alfred, my hands on his harms, clinging to the material of his jacket like my life depended on it. I tried to steady my breathing, the room still spinning, my head feeling full of cotton wool. "England?" Alfred's voice reached my ears again.

We heard a loud crash from outside, and it didn't take long for me to react. I arched my back and a scream tore from my throat, my whole body tense for a split second before I fell limp. Alfred caught me and held me tightly. "Arthur?"

His voice was full of worry, concern and …was that fear? Silly Alfred, Heroes aren't supposed to get scared, remember?...

Another pain shot through me and I let out a strangled cry, tears beginning to fall from my eyes. I think at this point Alfred figured out what was causing my pain, for he swore rather loudly and picked me up into his arms. I could tell that we were moving, but I didn't know where to. My head was spinning and my skull felt like it was splitting open. My body twitched and squirmed as pain racked through me, and I bit my bottom lip harshly, trying to prevent myself from making any sounds of pain or agony.

I felt Alfred sit on something and shift me so I was sitting in his lap. He was holding me tightly, one of his hands was rubbing my back, trying in vain to make me relax. Every muscle hurt, every twitch and every movement of my body sent pain through my body, so intense I was surprised Alfred couldn't feel it. I was clinging to Alfred; I was clinging to him tightly, holding him close as he held me tightly. I could hear his voice, he was talking to me, but I couldn't process the words. It was as if he was talking in another language, I just couldn't understand him.

I don't know how much time passed until I heard the relieving sound of the sirens again, this time giving us the 'all clear'. I could feel myself spiraling down into unconsciousness, listening to the beating of Alfred's heart and feeling his strong, warm arms holding me protectively.

When I woke up the next morning, Alfred was lying next to me. I sat up, watching him closely, trying to remember what had happened the previous night. I looked around and found myself in my room, with his jacket once more around me as a blanket. I hugged it to me and remembered;

Alfred had held me through the bombing. He'd held me and tried to protect me, making me feel safe and….loved.

I investigated myself, making sure that I had no new cut or anything. My old cut on my side had reopened, but I found fresh bandages covering it. I glanced down at Alfred again, wondering why he did all of this for me…

At that moment, Alfred turned onto his back and his eyes fluttered opened. He yawned and stretched, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He glanced at me, and there were a few moments of silence between the two of us. It wasn't awkward, though, it was almost…pleasant.

"How are you feeling?" Alfred asked me, his voice quiet, as if he was afraid he'd break me or hurt me if he spoke too loud. I hated the fact that he'd seen me so weak and vulnerable, but some things can't be helped…

"I've been better," I replied, trying to give him a smile. Alfred smiled a little in response, before moving to get off the bed. My hands tightened into fists and I held the fabric of the bomber jacket on my lap tightly, before looking up at the American as he attempted to leave.

"America," Alfred looked at me. "…Why did you help me?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked, moving to sit next to me.

"Why did you stay with me? And why did you help me?" I paused, thinking over my next question. "…Why are you…Even here?"

Alfred looked down at his hands, thinking my questions over. I expected him to just look up at me and grin, replying that he was the Hero or something like that. But instead, he continued to think, his perfect blue eyes filled with thoughtfulness. It was unusual for the carefree American, but not something I found unattractive. I found him attractive no matter what…

Alfred looked up and made direct eye contact with me. His face was serious.

"It's because I care about you,"

My heart skipped a beat, but I willed myself not to get hopeful. I opened my mouth to reply, but Alfred cut me off. "Please, just hear me out," he said. I closed my mouth and nodded, continuing to watch him as he spoke.

"I'm sorry about all the times I've hurt you," Alfred continued, still staring at me. "I'm sorry about leaving you, and I'm sorry about hurting you. I'm sorry for making you hate me, I'm so sorry…But, Arthur, the truth is…I left because…I couldn't be your little brother anymore. I didn't want to be your little brother anymore,"

I know that. You wanted to be recognised as a powerful, independent nation. I know that, Alfred. I don't hate you, either. I don't hate you, Alfred, I love you…

"I wanted to be your equal," Alfred continued. "Because…Because I'd fallen in love with you,"

My heart stopped for a moment. Did I hear that right? Because he'd fallen in love with me? I wasn't just imagining things, right? Was this really happening, or was it some bomb-induced dream?

"I love you, Arthur,"

My head was spinning, but this time it wasn't from the previous night.

"I've loved you since the 1700s,"

Next thing I knew, I found myself in Alfred's arms, after practically throwing myself at him. I held onto him tightly, clinging to the fabric of his uniform. Tears were falling freely down my cheeks, and I found my voice to reply to him.

"I love you too," I said, moving closer to him. "Oh God, Alfred, I love you so much, I love you, I love you…," All of my bottled up affection for him came spilling out at once, as I continued to tell him that I love him, and I clung to him. I felt Alfred's arms wrap around my body tightly, pulling me closer and holding me protectively. I felt so safe, I felt so protected here in his embrace.

"I love you so much, Arthur," Alfred said, kissing my forehead. "I'm so sorry for all the times I've hurt you, I never meant to make you cry…,"

I looked up at him, and he moved his gloved hand to wipe some of my tears away. Then, I smiled at him. I could see the slight surprise in Alfred's eyes at this.

I haven't smiled truthfully for ages, I couldn't remember the last time I'd smiled. It felt so right though, here, with Alfred. My Alfred.

Alfred leaned down and captured my lips in a soft, loving and passionate kiss. I returned the kiss, clinging to him still. His arms were around me, holding me tightly.

I felt so protected, so safe, so loved.

And so happy.

Because Alfred was back.

My Alfred.

My Alfred had returned to me.


End file.
